


The Napoléon Chronicles Part II

by Tournesol



Series: The Napoléon Chronicles [2]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Canon Era, Dogs, Enjolras and Grantaire live in rooms across from each other, M/M, Pets, happens during christmas you'll just have to roll with it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-29
Updated: 2014-04-29
Packaged: 2018-01-21 05:27:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1539359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tournesol/pseuds/Tournesol
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras has to stay in Paris instead of joining his family for the holidays. When he sees Grantaire and Napoléon, the dog they rescued, he finds that he might not spend the holidays alone as he thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Napoléon Chronicles Part II

When Enjolras ascends the stairs to his room, it's to the sight of Grantaire sat down in the hallway, attempting to soothe a distressed dog who's scratching and whining at Enjolras' door.

Upon finding the puppy days had turned into weeks, which had turned into months, and it was now almost a year since Grantaire had brought her in. (Finding her to be a female never stopped Grantaire from calling her Napoleon, much to Enjolras' dismay.)

She is as much Enjolras' as she is Grantaire's. Despite Enjolras' best efforts she has grown on him and brought down his walls and defenses with cunning softness. And thus the cynic and the optimist have been brought together, contrasting natures set together in the care of a forlorn looking scruffy dog with light fur freckled with brown, gray, and dark spots and eyes of a different color each. (“Heterochromia,” Combeferre had gushed upon seeing her trailing after Enjolras and Grantaire at a meeting.)

And if Napoleon has caused Enjolras and Grantaire to spend more time with each other, neither seems to complain.

“Come on Polly, he's not here,” Grantaire whispers, resigned, as he pets her back in a soothing gesture.

As Enjolras takes another step the wood of the old boards creaks and makes his presence known to Grantaire and Napoleon whose heads snap to him in surprise. As soon as he's reached the landing, Polly yelps and all but jumps on him. He crouches down to catch her in his arms and Grantaire watches them with a fond smile which tugs an unexpected warmth out of Enjolras' heart.

“She was missing you,” explains Grantaire. “But I thought you were on your way to your family's holiday gathering,” he adds.

“I was meant to but the carriage has been held off at Malesherbe on account of the ice on the roads. I won't be able to make it in time. It seemed wiser to call the whole trip off entirely rather than risking getting stranded again on the road somewhere in this weather.”

“I'm sorry to hear that.”

“No need to concern yourself on my account. This development comes to me as a relief, it will spare me the forced attendance of a gathering of insufferable people motivated by convention and appearances only. Are you staying in Paris, Grantaire?”

“My family decided to spend the holidays in Italy. It was more convenient for me to remain here,” Grantaire shrugs.

Enjolras unlocks his door, glances down at Napoleon who storms in his place as soon as the door is open and then sits waiting for Enjolras and Grantaire to come in.

An unpleasant feeling sits in Enjolras' chest at the prospect of Grantaire spending the holidays by himself when they're just across the hall from each other, and especially since Napoleon is with him. On a whim, he asks Grantaire to join him. He dodges any of his rebuttals by stating that it won't be a bother, that it would be preposterous for them to stay on their own, and that more importantly, Napoleon would miss him otherwise.

Grantaire acquiesces and comes inside. Coats and caps are shed and he sits on the floor, playing with Napoleon while Enjolras lights the fire and sets a cup of water down for Napoleon, a scene oddly domestic which would have been inconceivable just months before. They stay in companionable silence for a while, waiting for the room to warm.

Enjolras belatedly realizes his now canceled trip means he hasn't got any supplies for dinner, and the shops are long closed by now. Grantaire shushes him and leaves the room only to come back laden with a loaf of bread, some butter, a jar of honey, and a bottle of wine. Enjolras frowns upon the last and when Grantaire notices, he simply says:

“Mulled wine. I figured it would keep with the holiday spirit.” He also assures Enjolras that it's good and most of all, mild.

They sit in front of the fire and have a decadent picnic while the wine heats. Napoleon is sat between the two of them, and sometimes Grantaire indulges her with a bit of bread and she ends up licking butter and crumbs off their hands and Grantaire can see Enjolras smiling when he thinks he's not looking.

When Grantaire hands him a cup of mulled wine, she is asleep, nestled between them with her head resting on Enjolras' lap. Grantaire toasts merrily before taking a sip. Enjolras tears his eyes away from Grantaire's insolent lips after a bit and does the same.

To give credit where credit is due, Grantaire was right: the mulled wine is good. The beverage is slightly syrupy but not overly sweet, the naturally bitter tannins of the wine mix pleasantly with the warmth of the spices and the tang of citrus on his tongue, elements you'd think would not mix well together but complement each other nicely. The agreeable sensation spreads further as Enjolras feels the warm liquid down his throat. A comfortable buzz blooms in his chest like tendrils of ink swirling in water.

Enjolras hardly ever partakes alcohol, he doesn't feel the need to and never quite understood the appeal, but the wine is good and he can't offer a complaint now. He wonders where Grantaire got his hands on it considering the price of spice and how difficult it is to get citrus this time of year.

He's lost in thought with his cheeks flushed (from the warmth of the wine he tells himself) and his eyes vacant on the burning logs in front of him when Grantaire speaks.

“You are being uncharacteristically quiet tonight. I can retreat to my rooms if you need your space, you're not obligated to invite me.”

It's true Enjolras is mindful of his personal space but having Grantaire here with him doesn't feel like an intrusion. Maybe that's what home is supposed to feel like.

He feels light and content at the moment, whether from the wine or the relief of having escaped from a long dreaded ordeal. His eyes settle on Grantaire, his cheeks as flushed as his own and with the light of the fire dancing on his features and sparking in his eyes. Enjolras raises his eyebrows in surprise.

“I could say the same thing about you. But I can assure you that you being here is no bother, quite the contrary. I'd rather have your loud argumentative harsh truths than any of the hypocritical pleasantries I'd have had to suffer from with my family. Also you were right, the wine is good.”

This is quite possibly the closest thing to a compliment Enjolras has ever paid Grantaire.

“Enjolras...Did you just agree to something I just said? A true Christmas miracle indeed! Alas, nobody else to witness such a thing, who will ever believe me when I recount it happened...” Grantaire exclaims. “And here I thought you were purposefully remaining silent to steer away from arguments on the eve of Christmas,” he adds with a smile while petting Napoleon's head affectionately.

“I'm not-”

“-Ah! See? There it is,” Grantaire retorts, cutting Enjolras' reply short. “Your spirit of contradiction. I knew this was too good to last.”

Enjolras makes a frustrated noise but all in good humor. The jest is light and lacks the usual bitterness underlying their arguments. He settles for petting Napoleon as well, who's now lying on her back in the hopes of having her belly scratched.

“You're really good with her,” Grantaire says quietly while watching Enjolras.

“You sound surprised.”

“Simply because I did not think you would want anything to do with her,” it's difficult to ignore the 'and with me' implied in that statement. “I was not doubting your abilities to be so, I just find your willingness a pleasant surprise, especially when you're not obligated to take care of her.”

Sure Enjolras never cared for dogs in the past and never planned to have one, having barely enough time as it is to take care of himself. He'd been reluctant at first but Napoleon had slowly and effortlessly become a fixture in his life, and he'd relented as soon as he realized that his best rationally built arguments couldn't counter a set of pretty heterochromatic puppy dog eyes. She had won him over.

“She's not so much of a burden really. Also she's difficult not to love,” he says while scratching her belly.

Their hands touch briefly and they freeze; it takes longer than it should to move from each other.  
Napoleon moves swiftly then and leaves them to curl on Enjolras' bed after having enthusiastically licked both Enjolras' and Grantaire's cheeks.

Grantaire smirks knowingly at Enjolras when he doesn't chastise her for sleeping on his bed.

“I knew you had a softer side hidden somewhere Enjolras.”

And for a moment Enjolras looks embarrassed.

“... only because it's Christmas,” mutters Enjolras.

Grantaire's eyes widen.

“Liar. I can see that spot where the blankets are mussed and covered in dog hairs where she's in the habit of sleeping. Plus she often comes back from here smelling like your soap.”

“Fine. But I have no other choice. She drags my coat down to sleep on it when I don't let her on the bed.”

Grantaire chuckles and Enjolras bumps his shoulder to Grantaire's.

“Well, who could blame her. She loves you,” Grantaire says, looking at Enjolras in earnest, his tone a touch too serious in comparison to the previous lightness of the conversation. “You staying here unexpectedly is a blessing I must say, she would have missed you terribly otherwise.”

“And I her. But I'm sure she would have been fine. You should give yourself some credit: you're much better with her than I ever will be...”

“Enjolras, are you jealous? Allow me to argue on that point, because you're very much mistaken. Every time she hears you coming up the stairs, her face lights up and she does that thing where her ears go really up. When she spends too much time without seeing you she gets restless and distraught and starts chewing at whatever I left on the floor and at the feet of my bed and chairs. So believe me when I say I'm glad you could be here.”

After a beat, Enjolras replies “Well I'm glad I got to spend the evening with you two. It's a much better prospect than what was intended for me.”

Grantaire's laugh at that is bitter. “I'm probably the luckiest of us two Enjolras.”

Enjolras has a thousand words he wants to say at once but can't settle for one. How can he explain how Grantaire sitting on the floor reading Enjolras' books while petting Napoleon makes his chest burst with feeling, how Grantaire's unexpected and more frequent presence in his rooms ever since Napoleon came to them is welcome and feels more natural than it ought to, how their banter is pleasant and that he's come to appreciate Grantaire's challenging back and forth and his input when he's writing at his desk, how he's never felt more content and calm.

For the first time Enjolras puts words on feelings that he's left unchecked and loose for too long.  
Because if Napoleon has become a fixture in his life, so has Grantaire. He's gotten under his skin and if those comfortable nights with Napoleon and Grantaire should stop, he realizes that he would miss them.

Could it have been just the affair of a few months? It feels like a lifetime, like an evidence. He can't make himself think of not having this anymore. Having done without this in the past seems an aberration now.  
Grantaire. Enjolras tries to reconciles the man he's got in vicious arguments with in the past in the Musain, Grantaire the drunk, the cynic, loud and disruptive, with the man he sees at home who seems to have a thousand talents and passions, with the soft eyes and the clever mouth and the knowledge for all good things, Grantaire who cares.  
He makes himself look at Grantaire, really look, observe. The frown on his brow, the stormy blue eyes, the crooked nose, the flush on his cheeks, the defiant lips.

Enjolras knows their history. He knows that if he does this in speech when his thoughts are scattered all around his head, Grantaire will make an argument out of it and debunk each and everyone of his weak points, that he will not understand that his points might be weak because there's a tempest in his skull where Grantaire is concerned and that rationality will not win this. He also knows that it is vital for him to make Grantaire understand, to make Grantaire believe him. .

He takes a deep steadying breath. His mind is set on a course of action. Because action is key and when he's reached a decision he doesn't back down, mind intent into something almost fierce and feral.  
He doesn't know the outcome of what he is about to do but he knows in the bottom of his heart and soul that he has to try.

He tentatively puts his hand on Grantaire's where it's resting on the floor between them, and with his eyes fleeting from Grantaire's eyes to his lips, tilts his head forward, intent clear but asking for silent permission. He is slow about it, wanting to gauge Grantaire's reaction, to let him the opportunity to back out should he not want this. But, and Enjolras' heart rate speeds up at this, Grantaire inches forward in acquiescence. He is permitted.

He puts his free hand on Grantaire's cheek, thumb brushing his cheekbone with the barest hint of pressure, and then their lips touch.  
It's soft, their lips barely brushing and then Grantaire gasps against Enjolras' mouth. His hand goes on top of Enjolras' on his cheek, as an anchor as he allows himself to deepen the kiss, which turns into something fervent and worshiping. Grantaire's eyes roll in his head and Enjolras wants.

But Grantaire breaks the kiss, looking at Enjolras with wide blinking eyes. They're both breathing hard and Grantaire looks pained.

“Enjolras... look... you've drunk... you shouldn't... you're going to regret this tomorrow.”

Enjolras frowns, and replies after a beat:

“I know what I want Grantaire. You know a mere cup of mulled wine is not going to impair my judgment. If you're saying this to give me an out I don't want it. I won't regret this. Grantaire... I've been... having feelings, for you, for quite some time now. It happened without me noticing but I just KNOW. Having you close, it feels right. I know I've been harsh to you in the past and I can't take that away but it's different now. I want this. I like you, Grantaire, very much so. If you don't feel the same I will leave you be, but even then, I won't regret having kissed you. I cannot lie to you or to myself anymore.”

Grantaire won't speak and his eyes are still wide and his pupils are blown and dark. Instead he lurches towards Enjolras in a bruising kiss, cradling his head in both hands, the tender gesture contrasting with the desperate and frantic nature of the kiss. He straddles Enjolras in his haste to get closer and forces Enjolras to slide a hand down to his neck where he can feel the wild pulse beating under his palm and the other grips Grantaire's waist for balance.  
Grantaire sucks on Enjolras' bottom lip and drags his teeth over it, and then Enjolras moans and their tongues brush and Grantaire thinks this will be his undoing.

This time when they part, Grantaire murmurs against Enjolras' lips “You think I don't want this? Christ Enjolras, I've been in love with you for years you fool. I could never not want this do your hear me? This is preposterous.”

“Good. Merry Christmas Grantaire.”

“Merry Christmas Enjolras.”

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a while ago but didn't post it in case I'd write more in between but it's unlikely I will so here it is...
> 
> Come find me on [tumblr](http://hugatreeortwo.tumblr.com)


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